


Curiosities

by waitfortheclick



Series: your need grows teeth [2]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Bondage, Cunnilingus, Edge Play, F/M, M/M, Name-Calling, Needle play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Riding, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Situational Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfortheclick/pseuds/waitfortheclick
Summary: Greg fantasizes. This is just porn, all the way down.Set around season 4.
Relationships: Gil Grissom/Greg Sanders, Greg Sanders/Catherine Willows, Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders/Sara Sidle, Warrick Brown/Greg Sanders
Series: your need grows teeth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063253
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Curiosities

Greg heard once, through the grapevine, that Lady Heather told Catherine that she’d make a good dominatrix. Which is… interesting to think about, because God knows his dick hears it when she orders him around. Realistically, though, Greg always had her figured for the classics: romance, flowers, maybe even missionary. Not to say that she’d be boring, far from it. He guesses she probably really likes sex; likes to have a lot of it, doesn’t have as many hang ups as some people. She seems very sensual, very passionate, with all the flexibility of someone who used to strip. 

She probably likes to put on a show for her lovers: she’d put on some music, start undressing slowly, rocking her hips to the beat. She’d slink over to him and straddle his lap, run her fingers through his hair and kiss him deeply, suck on his lower lip. She’d grind against him while taking off his shirt, unbuttoning his pants, reaching inside and stroking him. She’d take his hands and press them against her breasts, and he’d rub her nipples until she moaned. She’d get them over to the bed and push him down, down, down until she had him right where she wanted him.

He’d bury his face between her thighs, spread her open with his thumbs and lick and suck at her slippery skin. She’d moan and throw her head back, hair falling golden over her freckled shoulders. Her fingernails would dig into his scalp, pulling at his hair before pulling him up to kiss herself off his mouth, her tongue gliding over his lips. She’d wrap those strong legs around his waist and press her feet against his thighs to pull him inside her cunt.

She’d be really vocal, moaning and telling him what to do, encouraging him. She’d clutch at his back and dig her nails into his ass cheeks to spur him on, to shove him inside herself. She’d clench and hold on, hold his dick inside, inner muscles working, getting herself off. Then loosen her grip a little, just a little, to let him pull out and thrust inside again, never letting him go too far. She’d wrap her arms around his back and drag her fingers through his hair, rub her lips against his and thrust her tongue inside his mouth.

She’d reach between them to rub her clit, fingers slipping over her skin, long nails scratching against his belly. When she came her head would fall back, exposing that expanse of pale neck skin, and she’d thrust her chest, stained pink with blood-flush, into the air. She’d clench hard around him and he’d follow her, tripping and falling into orgasm, gasping for breath and enveloped in wet heat. 

* * *

Sara would want to be on top, no doubt about it. She’d bring the same control freaky intensity to the bedroom that she brings to work. She might even want to tie him up. Yeah, she’d want to tie him up, she’d want him immobile. Then she’d tell him “Hold still”, and if he shifted even a little bit, she’d slap his thigh, stinging his flesh, ringing in his ears. She’d straddle his hips, watching him sharply, holding herself open with one hand, before lowering herself slowly, so slowly, while he clenched his fists fitfully in his binds. 

She wouldn't say much, she’d just ride him with a brooding intensity. She might pinch his nipples hard to keep him on his toes, make his hips buck involuntarily. She might even laugh about that, and rake her nails down his chest, relishing in the marks she leaves behind. He’d groan and squirm and she’d gap-tooth grin down at him, delighted. 

She’d ride him slowly, really take her time, crush her pelvis against his and grind her slick clit against his skin. She’d speed up sporadically, whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, with him unable to do anything but moan and take it; itching to run his hands up her thighs, over the soft curve of her belly, her breasts. “You’re noisy”, she would tease, and he’d feel the blood rush under his skin, drawing a blush from his chest to his face, and that would make her laugh again.

She’d reach between her thighs and rub her clit until she came, moaning and clenching around his dick. She’d rest for a few beats, then laugh a little, smile that sardonic smile. Then she’d crawl up his body and straddle his face, drag her cunt across his mouth and he’d eat her out while she dug her nails into his scalp. She’d come at least once more that way, leaving his chin all slick wet.

Then she’d untie one of his hands, dismount, and saunter off to the bathroom, leaving him to take care of himself. He’d still be all wet from her, jerking himself off with one hand until he came, gasping, across his stomach and chest.

She’d get dressed and throw a “See ya!” over her shoulder as she left, leaving him to untie himself, covered in his own cum.

* * *

Grissom could probably teach him a thing or two. Which, OK, he isn’t so experienced that that’s so unlikely. He’s just saying, when he thinks about it -- which is rare because Grissom still kind of scares the hell out of him -- he thinks that Grissom knows some, well, interesting stuff. Stuff Greg couldn’t even begin to guess about. He probably has a lot of tools, and he would want to experiment. Like, actually run experiments. Greg has a flash of an image, himself, suspended in formalin in an oversized glass jar, before he quickly shoos the thought away.

So maybe Grissom would want to tie him up, too. He’d need him to be still for what he wants to do. Because it’s going to hurt. He’d have all his tools lined up ready to go on a table next to the bed, just out of sight, and he’d snap on his nitrile gloves like this was just another day at work. Like, and this is morbid but whatever, Greg’s a corpse on the street somewhere.

“Relax, Greg,” he’d say, in that patronizing way of his. The alcohol would be cold on Greg’s skin, and when he gasps Grissom would give him a look over his glasses and smile. The iodine would smell funny, strange in this context, but he wouldn’t have long to think about it before Grissom lightly grips his nipple between his fingertips and tugs upward. 

“Here’s what I need you to do, Greg,” he’d say. “I need you to take a deep breath in, and then release it.” Greg will do as he’s told, and his muscles jump as he feels the sharp bite and glide of the needle through his skin. “Shhhh,” Grissom will soothe, almost as an afterthought.

He’ll shift restlessly, whimpering out his pain, and each little movement will send pain radiating through his chest like fire, like electricity. Maybe Grissom would run a soothing hand down his side. Maybe he’ll travel a curious hand over the skin of his stomach, to the head of his cock, hard and sticky against his skin. And Greg will be scared, but it’s just a tease, because he’ll walk his fingers up to his other nipple. He’ll tug upward on that one, too, and say: “Come on, Greg, you know what to do.” Greg will take a deep breath in because there’s not much else he can do, not like he has a choice. Maybe this time the bite of the needle will cause one tear to slip down his cheek. Grissom will smile reassuringly and use a tissue to wipe it away.

Then Grissom will lube up his fingers and lightly curl his pointer finger and thumb around Greg’s cock, just about halfway down, not even close to enough, and he’ll start jerking him off. His finger pad will press tantalizingly against the sensitive underside of his cock, and Greg will twitch his hips, helpless, trying to get more friction. Trying to get him to go faster, anything, anything more.

“Greg,” he’ll say, just this side of patient. “If you can’t keep quiet, I’m going to have to gag you.” He says it in that voice, annoyed like they’re in the lab and Greg can’t stop talking because on a good day, yeah, Grissom sends his anxiety skyrocketing. So he doesn’t want to think about what he might be saying now, tied up and pierced and teased.

Grissom keeps stroking him, gradually tightening his grip, watching Greg’s face, until finally, finally, he’s right there, he’s going to come, and it’s going to be fantastic, and then --

Grissom stops. He stops and pulls his hand away.

Greg gasps, hips bucking up, cock straining against nothing, just air. Grissom hums in monotone, just a little sound, considering, under his breath. Greg wants to beg but he doesn’t want to disappoint, so he presses his lips together tightly. Grissom doesn’t touch him again until his breathing has calmed down a little, and then he starts all over again. 

In real life, Greg usually comes around the third time he’s denied in the fantasy, though he tries to last longer.

When he’s feeling particularly masochistic, Grissom doesn’t let him come. He does leave him there, tied up, for Nick to find and fuck. In this fantasy, Grissom and Nick laugh about it at work.

* * *

  
  


Warrick, OK, he’s Nick’s best friend, but have you seen him? One look from him and you want to take off all your clothes right then and there. Warrick would be really smooth, really seductive. He’d be all slow kisses and heated looks and he’d probably light candles, which is actually kind of funny, but Greg isn’t trying to be a smartass here -- Greg always figured Warrick and Catherine would be good in bed together. 

Warrick would kiss him a lot, deeply, run his fingers through his hair and whisper against his skin. He’d undress him slowly, take his time, and finally pull him on top of him on the bed. Warrick probably likes his partners on top, so he can see all of them, so he can have his hands free to explore and caress. Greg would straddle his hips and lower himself carefully, and Warrick would just watch his dick disappear inch by inch. He’d place his big, hot hands on Greg’s hips, but just to touch, not to demand. 

Greg would ride him, fists clenched against his chest; if he went too fast Warrick would tighten the grip on his hips and make him slow down. He’d make him go so slow Greg would be begging to just let him fuck himself hard and fast and Warrick would just chuckle under his breath and shake his head, calling him “eager”, “greedy”.

Warrick would sweep his hands up Greg’s stomach, his chest, run his thumbs over his nipples until he’s whimpering, tossing his head back, his cock hard between them. And Warrick would only close his eyes to blink, watching Greg the entire time; making him feel like he’s burning up under the intensity of that gaze. His hands would come around to grip his ass, lifting him, finally, finally, picking up the pace, only to force him still.

“Jesus, _please.”_ He’d beg, helpless. Warrick would smile and thrust up once, before guiding him back to a slower pace.

His hands would continue travelling over his chest, then down, warmth trailing after his fingertips, until he wraps one around Greg’s cock, the other coming back to rest on his hip. He’d jerk him off until he came, Greg’s head thrown back and mouth open on a silent moan. Then he’d force his hips faster, fuck up into him sharply, until he comes, hands grasping hard on his hips.

Sorry, Nick, but that’s just hot.

* * *

  
  
_“You like that? You like everyone watching, knowing how bad you want it?”_

_“Jesus, Nick, yes!” He grips the edge of the table, legs shaking as Nick fucks him from behind. His jeans are shoved down around his thighs, denim biting into his skin; lab coat bunched up where Nick’s holding him down with a hand pressed against his back..._

He hears the door, and the footsteps down the hall, so he’s not surprised when Nick walks in and interrupts him. He also doesn’t stop.

Nick grabs his wrist hard and jerks his hand away from his cock. Greg laughs.

“Hey, you.” Greg wiggles the fingers of his trapped hand.

“What are you thinking about?” 

_What,_ not, _Who,_ but Greg answers that anyway, letting his voice go breathy, his eyes wide: “You.” 

Nick laughs "What, I don't fuck you enough you have to fantasize about it, too?"

Greg's mind boggles for a moment at this logic. "You know, most people would be happy their boyfriend's jerking off thinking about them."

"Yeah, you'd know about most people, wouldn't you."

"Oh, calling me a slut, extremely original."

"Hey, I work with what you give me."

Nick is clambering onto the bed with him, still gripping his wrist. He manages to twist his arm behind his back and hold him there, awkwardly bent forward. “Ow, Nick, what the fuck.” He doesn’t tell him to stop.

“What was I doing, then?” He bites the back of Greg’s neck, makes his dick twitch.

“You were, ah,” Nick bites him again, harder, then licks him. “Fucking me.”

“And?”

Greg clears his throat. “Uh. That’s all.”

Nick pulls up on his arm, increasing the pressure, and pushes him forward a bit more, (“Ow”) testing the stretch. He seems to think for a moment. “What were _you_ doing?

Greg laughs. “Reciting the periodic table.” Nick lets up on his arm, loosens his grip. 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Hmm… You wouldn’t let me come if I fucked up.”

Nick switches hands, brings one around to grip Greg’s cock. “ _And?”_ He tightens his hold around Greg’s wrist and pulls up again while starting to jerk him off.

“Oh, _fuck.”_ Greg gasps. “We were, uh, in the lab. And everyone can see us.” He says this all in one embarrassed rush of breath.

“Oh yeah? Are they getting off on it?”

“Um, kind of? Some of them are… laughing at me.”

“Oh, yeah? Calling you a slut?” He’s whispering harshly against his ear, jerking him faster.

Greg clears his throat, squirms. “Uh, yeah.”

Nick lets go of his arm and Greg pulls it back around, cradling it and narrowing his eyes at him. Nick grins, moving to hover over him, hand on his cock slowing. “You know what?”

“What?” Greg says, suspicious, turned on.

Nick looms closer, forcing him back against the bed. Greg gulps, feeling heat rise inside his chest. Nick gets up in his face and says: “That’s weird, Greg. It’s really fucking weird.”

Nick once described himself in high school as “dependable”, and it’s certainly still true. He’s always been there for Greg, once he stopped kidding himself thinking of Greg as some younger brother. Anyway, Greg can always count on him to give him a hell of a hard time. 

Greg lets out a shaky laugh, “You like it.”

Nick moves in to nuzzle the side of his face. “Yeah, you’re lucky.”

Greg laughs again, steadier, “You wish.” He gasps as Nick sinks his teeth into his shoulder, then Nick’s letting go of his cock and flipping him onto his front. There’s a beat of silence before Nick presses his lips to the base of his neck, right where Greg knows the scars start. Greg rolls his eyes.

“All right, all right.”

“OK.” Nick whispers.

Nick opens the bedside table drawer. He digs around for a few seconds - “You’re such a pig, Greg.” - before coming up with a tube of lube and a condom.

“Wait here,” he smacks Greg’s ass hard and bounces off the bed, going into the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Where the hell else would I go?” Greg asks the bedside lamp. “Ah!” He yelps when Nick comes back and grabs his sides with cold hands.

“Gimme that,” he says, retrieving the lube. He uncaps the top and unzips his pants. Greg starts and shudders as he feels it drip and slide, cold and wet, down the crack of his ass. It’s going to get everywhere, he thinks, make a mess. It makes his face heat and his hips jerk. 

“Hold still.” Nick gathers some of the lube and presses against him with one finger, sliding inside. Greg draws in a quick breath and grips the pillow. “So?”

“So what?” He breathes.

“So, start from the beginning.”

“Oh! OK…” he hesitates for a moment while Nick fucks him, slow and steady. “We were in the lab. And you… you bent me over a table and fucked me.”

“Just like that, huh?”

He hesitates again. “Uh, no.”

“‘Uh, no’?” Nick parrots. 

“No, you backed me up against it and kissed me. And I told you to knock it off but you…”

“Yeah?”

“You grabbed my face and told me I liked it.”

“Yeah, I bet. Did it hurt?”

Greg shudders. “Yes.” 

Nick fucks him faster. “Did you like it?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“What else?”

“Then you turned me around, and yanked my pants down --”

“Were you hard? Did you want it?” The click of the bottle again, more wet, another finger.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes.” Two fingers, stretching and fucking and filling him up.

“And everyone could see?”

“We were right there, in the middle of the lab… everyone could look in and…” His voice is breathy, embarrassing, he can’t help it.

“See.”

“Yes.”

“And they could see how badly you wanted it, how much you liked it --”

“ _Yes._ ”

“And they were talking about you, about how easy you looked, how slutty.” Nick drags Greg’s hips up.

“And they -- they always thought I was a slut, and, and, it was a wonder I got any work done at all with sex on my brain all the time.” It comes out fast, in one breath.

“What else were they thinking, huh? If they could go next?” Greg shifts against the sheets fitfully. Nick spreads him with one hand on his ass cheek, then bites down hard on the muscle. Greg swears and stills.

Nick holds him open, fingers splayed wide and gripping hard against the curve of his ass, enters in two precise thrusts.

“Oh, _God.”_

“What else was I doing?” Nick starts fucking him, denim scraping against the back of Greg’s thighs.

“You were… you were pulling my hair, calling me names, slapping my ass.”

“Oh yeah, like this?” He buries a hand in his hair and _pulls._

“ _Fuck.”_

“Like this, you little tramp?” He slaps his ass hard, once, twice, three times in quick succession.

Greg gasps and clenches. “That’s such a -- isn’t that kind of an old fashioned term?”

“Shut up, Greg.” Greg lifts one hand to mime zipping his mouth shut.

“Mmmph.”

“How about ‘whore’? ‘Bitch in heat’?”

“Oh, God.” 

“Were we naked?”

“Mmm, no. You had my lab coat bunched up where you were holding me down.”

“You wanted it bad, huh?”

“Yeah, yes, oh my God, please don’t stop.”

Nick smacks his ass again. “You think I’m an idiot? Don’t answer that.” He pushes his fingers into Greg’s hair and presses the side of his face into the pillow, but it doesn’t stop the grin. “So, what? I made you recite the periodic table?”

Greg laughs and repeats himself. “You made me recite the periodic table, and wouldn’t let me come if I fucked it up.”

“Did you fuck up?”

“I hadn’t decided yet.”

Nick slows his thrusts, then comes to a stop. Greg muffles a moan into the pillow.

“Do you think you should come?”

Greg thinks for a moment, lust-fogged. “Whatever you want.”

Nick laughs. “Good answer.” He thrusts again, hard, then settles back into the rhythm. His fingers dig into Greg’s hips before he lets go with one hand to scratch a fiery line down his back. “Touch yourself.” He demands and Greg gasps before wrapping his hand around his cock.

“Who was watching?”

“Everyone, I don’t know… Catherine, Warrick, Sara…”

“Grissom?” His thrusts get harder, his grip tightening. He lets go again to bury his fingers in Greg’s hair, pulling. “Was Grissom watching you get fucked? When you’re supposed to be working, you little bitch?”

“ _Fuck,_ yes, Grissom was watching, he was watching, oh fuck,” his hand works faster and faster and his fingers dig into the sheets, holding on. The heat and shame and lust are swirling inside of him, making him dizzy, and he’s dimly aware of himself shouting, the sharp peak of orgasm wringing him out. He goes limp and Nick hauls him up with an arm around his waist and fucks back into him. He bites down on the back of Greg’s neck, pushes in as far as he can, hips flush against Greg’s ass, and comes.

He pulls out with a grunt and tosses the tied condom at the waste basket, throwing his fists up in triumph as he makes the shot. He collapses next to Greg and throws out a hand to lazily slap his ass. 

“Hey, you OK?” he asks, laughingly.

“Nngh.” Greg slurps back the drool spilling onto the pillow. “I am so good, oh my god.” He limply maneuvers himself out of his own wet spot to splay on top of Nick, both of them sweaty and breathing hard.

“So…” Nick starts.

“Yeah?”

“So if I didn’t let you come, in the fantasy. What would… what happens?”

“Oh.” Greg clears his throat. “Uh, you shove me on the floor and uh, jerk off on me.”

Nick throws his head back and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Mortal Thread for the read over, edit, and brainstorming. The whole "Greg, that's fucking weird" thing was her idea. Thank you to sparkly_butthole for reading over the Grissom part.
> 
> Hi I'm high I hope I remembered everything.
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to say!! This was inspired by a convo about Greg being the lab bicycle, so like, that idea is still in play if anyone wants.


End file.
